


One Starry Night

by Zhie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-29 07:04:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11435661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: The Elves in Elrond's household receive an invitation to a masked ball.  While some ponder what to wear, it's what Erestor decides not to wear that becomes the talk of the town.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 9, 2010, I abandoned it shortly after. Then, in January of 2017, I suddenly had the thought to reincorporate it - but lost track of it. Most of it was suddenly and surprisingly found, and now, seven years later, it seems just about ready to be donesies. 
> 
> I feel that this story could just as easily been called 'Erestor's Midlife Crisis'.

“Did everyone have a chance to read the invitation?” asked Elrond. It was his third time reading it, and his sixth time asking the question.

There was a little mumbling from various members of the household. Most of them were engrossed in their own activities, from sketching to knitting to reading. Elrond glanced around, attempting a gentle glare at them, but no one had even bothered to look up. Apparently, conversation in this household had become a lost art.

Luckily, there was still at least one person whose manners were impeccable. Glorfindel marked his spot in his book, and then looked up. “I knew it had been delivered, but since we usually do not attend,” he said in reference to himself and Erestor, “I did not take an interest in it.” He reached over the arm of the chair he was in and patted the flamingo that dutifully sought him out on her head. “Is there something of interest going on at this year’s ball?”

“Yes. It would seem that Lady Indis wishes to revive the lost art of the masquerade. Everyone is to come in costume. In addition, there is a competition of sorts this year.”

“A competition?” Erestor’s interest was suddenly upon the ball he had sworn never to again attend. 

Elrond nodded. “She has enclosed the following sheet with the invitation.” The master of the house unfolded the enclosure and read it to anyone who cared to listen.

“Beautiful - Handsome - Unusual - Daring  
A Contest - Of Costumes - That All - Are Wearing.  
Be you bashful - Be you brazen  
Come in your finest - Join us at day’s end  
All is fair – In this game  
Do as you dare – No need to be tame.”

“Interesting,” said Celeborn. The poem seemed to have gained the attention of the rest of the room. “Is there any mention of a prize?”

“Who cares? Bragging rights are enough for me,” announced Erestor as he left the room.

“Where are you going?” shouted Glorfindel.

“To plan out my contest-winning costume,” called Erestor back.

Galadriel returned to her knitting. “It sounds as if you are most certainly attending this year, Glorfindel.”

“It would seem so,” he agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

“You have some options,” explained Linloriel. She sat across the table from Erestor in the back room of the shop of the local tonsor. Erestor left the house in the middle of breakfast in an attempt to keep from being followed to his destination. He used the vague excuse of needing to call upon a friend, and rushed through a lame half-truth as to why he had to go alone. Certainly no one believed him, for the murmurs began before he had reached the door, but he put that out of his mind as he focused on Linloriel’s suggestions. “Usually, a razor would suffice. If you shave it too soon, though, there will be stubble by the date of the ball, and that will look even less attractive than just leaving it be.”

“That is not an option – I need to be perfect for this. How late would you suggest if we go that route?” asked Erestor.

“Probably only a day or two before. The problem then is that the paint might sting, or worse yet, if you get nicked by the blade—“

“No, not good,” decided Erestor. “If I have any visible wounds, it will be ruined. What are the other options?”

“For small areas, plucking them out works well. The trouble is, that would be very time consuming, and potentially painful.” 

“Pain I can withstand. Time is another matter.”

The assistant nodded. “I would still advise that we thin your eyebrows a little if you really want the desired effect, and that is best done by removing the undesirable hairs individually.”

Erestor nodded his acquiescence. “What about the rest?”

“The only other method we have is to use either hot pitch or a combination of honey and oil to pull it off. It is the fastest method, and we could certainly tend to it today if you wished.”

“Without returning before the event?” asked Erestor, somewhat disbelieving.

“After today, I doubt you will ever want to return here,” admitted Linloriel. “Yes, you will be able to devote the next two weeks to perfecting your costume. Whatever that is. I must say, I am curious, knowing what you wish to have done.”

Erestor smiled. “Well... I want as few people to know of it ahead of time as possible. Since you are already involved... I suppose you do some work in the application of facial powders and paints?”

“Of course. I am fully trained here,” assured the assistant.

“Ever tried to paint someone from their forehead to their toes?” asked Erestor.

Linloriel shook her head.

“Interested in trying?”


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you alright?”

Erestor poked around the pantry without going in, but closed the door without taking anything out. “Sure,” he answered noncommittally. The minute he returned home, he avoided everyone by being in the basement or the attic or the stable or anywhere no one else was going. He skipped supper as well, but seemed to have lost his appetite. All the same, he picked up an apple and carried it with him.

“Really? Because you have been walking strangely ever since you returned this evening. Speaking of which,” continued Glorfindel as he followed Erestor into the parlor, “where were you all day?”

“Out,” replied Erestor quickly. He made his way to the chair closest to the door and plopped down on it. Normally, it was the chair that Elrond sat in, but he was too sore and tired to care at the moment. He was also a little sticky, but his shirt had long sleeves and his pants were stuck to his legs, so it mattered very little at the moment. “Just working on... something.” He turned the apple over and over as if it was a jewel for inspection before he set it aside on the table. 

“Uh huh.” Glorfindel kept his eyes on Erestor as he took a seat on the sofa. “Elrond told me that you asked he include us on the response card for the ball. Does this mean that I should look into costumes for us?”

“Oh! You need a costume. Yes, you should certainly find one,” advised Erestor. “Maybe we can put something together from all of that stuff we brought with us from Middle-earth. I keep wondering if it would be better suited in a museum, but I find myself sentimental - and appreciating Elrond’s kindness in letting us store so many things in unused rooms.”

“What about you? Shall I find you a costume to wear?” asked Glorfindel. “I know we still have some of your council robes, unless the moths have broken into the chests. Oh! What about that warden uniform, from your brief time in Lothlorien? That could be fun.”

Erestor shook his head. “I have mine taken care of.”

“Oh? Are you borrowing one?”

“No.”

“Renting?”

“No.”

“Can I at least see it?” Glorfindel asked each of his questions sweetly, though it was obvious he suspected some amount of mischief from Erestor. 

“...Not yet.” 

Glorfindel took a closer look at Erestor. “What did you do to your eyebrows?”

“Nothing,” said Erestor quickly, which was mostly true, since he had not actually been the one to do anything. He had simply spent the afternoon being still, wincing a few times, flinching a bit, and cursing every now and then. His respect for those who subjected themselves to such torture in the name of beauty had doubled by the end of the treatment. He stood, hissed at the sudden movement, and announced, “I think I am going to take a bath.”

“Alright, then.” Glorfindel watched Erestor half-hobble out of the room. A few minutes later, Elrond entered. Glorfindel waited until Elrond sat down before he said, “I think Erestor is up to something.”

Elrond glanced around to be sure he was the one being addressed before he answered, “Is there ever a time he is not up to something?” Elrond noticed the misplaced apple and plucked it from the table. “Would you like me to speak with him?”

Glorfindel seemed to consider the idea, but shook his head. “No. I intend to confront him about whatever is going on, and I mean to do it tonight.”


	4. Chapter 4

Uncertain of what Glorfindel’s reaction would be to his idea, Erestor bathed in record time in order to be in bed early in hopes of being up early and therefore avoiding the inevitable question that would arise if Glorfindel noticed—

“What in the name of Manwe did you do?!” Glorfindel tried to tug the blanket off of Erestor. He had crawled into bed, snuggled up to Erestor, and been shocked at what he found. Or really, what he did not find.

Erestor managed to yank the covers to him faster, and sat up in a panic. “Glorfindel... look, I wanted this to be a... I guess a surprise in a way—“

“Well, if that was your intention, it certainly was a surprise. What... why? Why?” Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. “You did do something with your eyebrows. They have never been so thinned out. I knew you did something!”

“No... I told you, I did not—“

“Alright, you had someone help you.”

“...Maybe.” Erestor gathered the blanket around him. “I have this really good idea for the masquerade.”

“Then why not share it with me?”

Erestor chose his words carefully. “You might talk me out of it.”

“Now I really want to know what is going on,” said Glorfindel.

“There must be something that I can do to convince you not to interrogate me.”

Glorfindel crossed his arms over his chest. “I am not above being bribed, but I want to make sure you are not going to do something that you regret later.”

“Let me worry about the regretability of my actions,” said Erestor. “So, what sort of bribery are we talking about?”

There was a considerable pause before Glorfindel said, “Well, if you have your mouth full, then I cannot interrogate you.”

Erestor was on his knees on the floor almost immediately. Since Glorfindel had attempted to crawl into bed after removing his clothes, there was nothing in Erestor’s way as he took hold of Glorfindel’s hips and bowed his head, taking the limp member between his lips. It hardened quickly as he took it into his mouth and into the back of his throat as it grew. 

“Oh, you must really... really have something good planned...” mumbled Glorfindel, his fingers digging into the long, dark tresses. He eventually gripped Erestor’s shoulders to keep his balance as he made quick, shallow thrusts forward while he climaxed. Despite the darkness that was lessened only by candlelight, Glorfindel was able to get a good look at Erestor when the elder elf shifted back to wipe his mouth. “You must have shaved everything,” he remarked, his eyes falling hungrily upon the space between his lover’s legs. 

“No, not shaved. There is this sticky stuff that just pulls it out. Much smoother for a lot longer this way,” he said, running his hand along his opposite arm to demonstrate.

“What are you going to do, show up to the dance naked?” asked Glorfindel. He laughed a little at the thought.

Erestor did not laugh in return. “...Maybe.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight.” Linloriel finished painting the final golden star on Erestor’s thigh. The stars, instead of fat and plentiful, were elegantly vertically stretched, with shortened arms and graceful legs. The golden paint shimmered as the half-painted elf turned to admire her work.

Erestor stood, elevated on a box, in front of a pair of full length mirrors that had been pushed together. “Make a wish,” he joked as Linloriel went to the table and opened a container of dark blue liquid. She was handed a brush by Glorfindel, who sat at the table assisting in the project.

“This smells good,” remarked Glorfindel, sniffing the thick blue paint that Linloriel dipped her brush into. 

“You can taste it if you want. All of it is edible; I did not want to use real paint all over his body,” explained Linloriel as Glorfindel dipped his fingertip into the pot. He touched his tongue experimentally to the thick, glossy liquid. “And, I thought it might make it more interesting for you when you need to clean it off.”

“Does that mean I have the privilege of cleaning it off?” asked Glorfindel, smile on his lips, desire in his eyes.

Linloriel came back over to retrieve more paint. “If you do not, I will.”

“Cheeky girl!” admonished Erestor as he was prodded to stand still and straighten up. “I never asked; do you intend to attend this evening?”

“Formally, I was not invited,” she said, and an exaggerated pout followed. “But a young gentleman did indeed approach me the other day when I visited you at the house, and I am being escorted by the young Lord Rondan.”

“Rondan approached you? Good for him,” remarked Glorfindel. “He tends to exhibit shyness around ladies.”

“Maybe approach is too strong a word,” she amended as her brush traced around the golden stars. “His grandfather actually introduced us, then informed me that he did not plan to go as he had no one to escort. I offered to introduce him to some of my customers who might have been invited but had no escort, to which Lord Elrond with some certainty pointed out that since I would be here anyhow to attend to you,” she swiped her brush across Erestor’s arm for emphasis, “that I would be a perfect candidate. Poor Rondan could do no more than nod as his grandfather arranged the details.”

“Oh, Elrond... without a realm to rule, he still finds ways to stay in charge,” said Erestor somewhat fondly of his former employer.

Linloriel laughed and began to work on Erestor’s legs, still smooth as she had promised they would be. “I could hear Lord Elladan as I was leaving, gently scolding his father for such interventions. It was all rather amusing to me,” she admitted. “I am glad for it, though. Rondan is a gentleman of the highest quality.” 

“No doubt from Elrond’s influence,” said Glorfindel.

They continued to converse over the next hour as Linloriel continued her work. Finally satisfied when nearly all of Erestor’s skin was covered with golden stars or the evening sky (including every tattoo, which had required some cursing and extra patience), she held the long, rounded brush out to Glorfindel. “I know he is going to be covered for sake of modesty, but that loincloth that I am quite literally going to have to sew him into so that the paint does not smear is not quite going to cover everything. I would hate, after all of this, if he were to shift and reveal unpainted flesh.”

“I think I am up to this task,” said Glorfindel as he moved, brush in one hand and paint in the other, to where Erestor was standing.

“Good. I am going to change, and will be back soon.” Linloriel made sure to close the door as she left, and as an extra precaution, Glorfindel locked it.

Erestor looked over his shoulder. “Well? What do you think so far?”

“I think you are fulfilling the unusual, daring, brazen, and handsome parts of the invitation.” Glorfindel swirled the brush in the jar of paint as he circled around to face Erestor. “And good enough to eat, too.”

“Later,” said Erestor warningly, but he was smiling, likely blushing under the blue and gold painted mask, and when his dick twitched, Glorfindel looked upon it with approval. “Linloriel will have my head if she has to do any major touching up.”

“Which head?” teased Glorfindel as the brush made contact at the base of Erestor’s awakening erection and was drawn slowly forward.

“Both,” gasped Erestor. “Not so gently,” he begged, panting a little as the third stroke was made. “If you keep that up...”

“Sorry,” said Glorfindel, but his expression said otherwise. He did, however, change his technique, and used shorter strokes, bristles sometimes poking to keep Erestor from becoming aroused. Once everything in front was covered in a layer of blue, Glorfindel walked behind Erestor. “Do you think you could spread your legs a bit? I doubt I can properly take care of this if you do not.”

“Sure. Let me step off of the box.” The soles of Erestor’s feet were one of the few things left unpainted, and as he stepped away Glorfindel saw the stark contrast. Even though Erestor’s skin was darker than usual for one of Noldorin heritage, it now appeared pale against the deep blue shade that had been chosen. The paint on his palms had since dried, and he took hold of a chair to steady himself as he widened his stance and bent slightly. “Is this good?”

For a moment, Glorfindel lost his voice. “This should be fine.” He felt like he was fifty again, giddy at the discovery of how delightful the image of bare flesh could be. Linloriel had painted down to Erestor’s waist, and up his thighs, and his hips as well, but a considerable space was left for Glorfindel to tend to. He knelt down, admired the view temporarily, and then set about his task.

“I was thinking, depending on how long we stay at the ball, that we should invite Elrond and Celebrian to...” Erestor groaned, his eyes shut, his jaw slack, his mind suddenly blank except for the rush of desire as the bristles of the brush, thick with paint, were rubbed around and around against the tight entrance to his body. 

“What did you want to invite them to?” asked Glorfindel as he licked the excess paint from the bristles.

“I thought we could...” Erestor gripped the chair more firmly as he moaned and dipped his back, presenting an even better view of his backside. Glorfindel had dipped the brush into the paint again a moment earlier, but it was not the bristles that dripped dark blue. Keeping a good grasp of the bristled end, Glorfindel slid the thick wooden handle further and further in, and stopped and pulled it back when he felt Erestor’s muscles clench around it. 

This was done a few times, until Glorfindel finally inserted it as far as he dared, and then came around and knelt upon the chair so that he was face to face with Erestor. “Kiss me,” he demanded, his lips so close that Erestor’s panting was felt upon them. One of Glorfindel’s hands was loosening his belt, preparing to slip beneath the waistband to deal with the considerable bulge that had formed.

Erestor shook his head, his words in gasps. “It would smudge the paint.” 

“Stick out your tongue.” Glorfindel, rarely so demanding, had captured Erestor in such a moment of submission that the Noldo was willing to do nearly anything the Vanya requested (so long as his costume did not come to ruin over it). When the pink appendage was presented to him, Glorfindel took it between his teeth and raked them over the sensitive muscle, then dueled the tip with his own, his hand busily working to bring himself to completion before Linloriel’s return. 

Erestor watched passion wash over his partner, and he fought to keep his own desire in check. The wooden handle of the brush had slipped out a little, but part still remained within him, and the pull of gravity on the part that was no longer lodged in his body made it almost more evident that it was there by Glorfindel’s will. Glorfindel gripped the arm of the chair as his hips jerked forward and his hand fisted around his erection. When he let out a satisfied growl, Erestor sighed in relief – much longer watching him, and he may have ended up trying to think of ways to apologize to Linloriel when she returned.

Glorfindel was not completely done with his mastering of the situation. “Open your mouth,” he said, his eyes as dark as a stormy sea, and Erestor, whose mouth was already half-open, widened it still. When Glorfindel revealed his hand from where it had been, he held out two fingers coated in his essence. These he slid past Erestor’s lips, and gave his final command: “Swallow.”

Erestor obeyed, the salty fluid never tasting sweeter. He opened his mouth once his tongue had licked the remnants from Glorfindel’s fingers, and said nothing as Glorfindel fastened his belt, moved off of the chair, and then came around behind Erestor again. 

“I need to get ready.” Glorfindel eased the brush out of Erestor and wiped it clean with a rag. “As much as I am looking forward to this party, I am really looking forward to what happens after the party.”

Erestor only trusted himself to nod in agreement.


	6. Chapter 6

The ball that Indis held every single year (even during the years when her husband was dead, before his return) was known to be the social event of Valinor. If you were invited, you were part of society; if you were not, more’s the pity to you. Indis truly was the one who controlled the popularity of anyone and everyone, and for those who were deemed suitable to attend, the lavish elegance they were treated to was extraordinary.

Though other balls were held throughout the year, Indis chose hers for late winter, when snow would not prevent anyone from attending, but temperature allowed for layer upon layer of fabric, feathers, and masks of metal, clay, and gemstones, to be worn without the wearer suffering a swoon.

Each person was introduced as they entered, not by their name, but by the title which they had chosen for their costume. It was a benefit, then, to arrive further toward the end, so that the fullest audience possible could see you enter, and walk with your chosen partner (or singularly, if you preferred), down the three-story flight of stairs that would bring you to the center of the ballroom. 

Glorfindel, Linloriel, and Rondan had left Erestor alone in the suite shortly after Linloriel’s return to literally sew Erestor into a matching dark blue loincloth and to paint the finishing touches, highlighting his lips with gold, and doing the same around his eyes and across his brows. He was dusted with a fine, golden powder in an attempt to not only make him shimmer from head to two but in hopes of preventing the paint from rubbing off.

It was more than an hour past sundown, and Erestor silently bemoaned his decision not to have any alcohol earlier. He had ceased drinking and eating the previous night – a necessarily precaution for anyone with plans to be painted head to foot and sewn into their undergarment. His hunger was not bothering him, but his nerves were a wreck. He paced, he talked himself into and out of the idea several times, until finally he recalled the real reason for his very unusual, very brazen costume.

Though the years of his youth and early adulthood were spent in anticipation of the balls that were thrown – he had been quite a dancer, even in his early years – it all stopped one night when Indis cornered him and made it quite clear that his invitations were not really expected to bring him to the events, and were more of a social expectation. It was necessary to invite the son of the firstborn Noldo to any event; it was desired by Indis that he not attend.

It was the reason that even now, upon return to Valinor, he declined all previous social gatherings. Tonight, however, he wanted some sort of revenge. He wanted to see her eyes burst out of her head, or perhaps have her faint into Finwe’s arms. He wanted to win her silly competition, and flaunt it in her face. Then, in front of everyone, but especially in front of her and Finwe, he wanted to kiss Glorfindel hard and passionate, and maybe squeeze his ass – but he probably would leave that whole last part out for Fin’s sake. His loving mate was quite shy, especially in public, and it would be hard enough for him to have a mostly naked elf stand beside him from time to time through the evening.

After a few deep, calming breaths, Erestor left the room and locked the door. He then stood in the empty corridor and stared at the small, silver key. He had no pocket to place it in, nor even a shoe to store it. Had Glorfindel taken the other key with him? Erestor could not recall.

He finally chose to place the key on top of the panel of the doorway. It was doubtful anyone would look there, or find it, and he could not imagine that there was anyone other than Maedhros tall enough to see where it was (and Maedhros was not only unlikely to do anything if he did see it, but also unlikely to attend).

Erestor walked down the hall and shivered slightly. The winter would normally have meant fires burning in most of the rooms and a cozy hallway, but most everyone in costume declined to start a fire, and the only place roasting was the kitchens at the far end of the estate. He hurried his steps and took the shortest path to the entrance of the ballroom. As he was approaching, two attendants were already working on closing the doors. Erestor jogged the rest of the way, praying he did not break a sweat or he would be the worst dressed person of the night. “Hold a moment,” he called out as he slowed his step, and the attendants paused, and then gawked. 

“What are you – the entertainment?” asked one as he opened his door wide enough for Erestor to get through.

“No,” he growled as he slid through. He stopped dead in his tracks a moment later, for the doors were shut with an audible thud that made almost everyone glance up at them, and then pause in their dancing and mingling and eating to stare at the tall, slender figure at the top of the stairs.

A few people could be heard clearing their throats as even the musicians stopped playing. The Master of Ceremony, who reminded himself of his duty, quietly asked Erestor for the name of his costume, and after he was answered he shouted in a lyrical voice, “Now entering, One Starry Night.”

Erestor heard himself swallow in the silence. His gut lurched as he set his foot upon the first step, and there was a temporary sense of panic and wish to flee. His eyes scanned the crowd for Glorfindel, and even over the distance he was able to make out the words Glorfindel spoke to those he was standing near.

“O menel aglar elenath.”

With newfound courage, Erestor slowly descended from above the crowd. His eyes at first stayed upon Glorfindel, but his curiosity made him scan the room for other familiar faces. He saw Thranduil sipping wine behind a smirk and Avisiel fanning herself beside him. In a far corner, Turgon was frowning a little, less from the costume (or lack of costume) that Erestor wore, but more from the fact that it was obvious much time and care had been put into the costume the former King of Gondolin was wearing, and he saw Erestor as competition. Ecthelion was near to the bottom of the stairs, and patted Erestor on the back, and after a few words of praise for his boldness and encouragement, sent him off to find Glorfindel.

“Good evening,” said Glorfindel when Erestor stopped a few feet away. The music had started again, and some were once more dancing and making merry (though some still refused to take their eyes from the newest arrival.)

“Good... morning,” said Erestor as he looked over Glorfindel’s costume. His companion had gone to the room that Linloriel had been assigned in order to dress without Erestor seeing. It seemed only fair if Erestor was hoping to keep his costume a surprise from as many people as possible, that Glorfindel do the same. 

Stepping back into an open space, the blond slowly made a full turn so that Erestor could admire the flowing cape of orange and gold, the embroidered clothing of the same colors, accented with the white ruffles of sleeves and collar. What golden powder had been leftover had been applied to his flowing mane, and his mask was embellished with amber, citrine, and dravite. 

“So this is the secret costume we have all been waiting for,” said Elrond as he looked over his former chief of staff. “I admit, it was not what I imagined, but I will also admit, there are few who could attempt this and still hold their grace and poise. Well done.”

“Tonight, you may well outshine Eärendil,” remarked Celebrian, and even her husband agreed with a nod of his head.

Erestor thanked them, but reached out and took hold of one of Glorfindel’s gloved hands. “While I appreciate your praise, no one can ever outshine the sun.”

“Excuse me, sir.” The Master of Ceremony tapped Erestor’s shoulder, and the taller elf let go of Glorfindel and turned around. “The hostess wishes to speak with you immediately.”

With a frown, Erestor excused himself from his friends and his lover and followed the messenger to a head table which had been placed upon a riser between the musicians and the buffet tables. He stood before Indis, who at the moment sat alone at the table. “You requested an audience with me?” Erestor found his courage turning towards arrogance upon seeing one of his arch enemies.

For a minute or so, Indis said nothing. Then, after waving her hand to dismiss the Master of Ceremony, she looked Erestor straight in the eyes and said, “You have made your point and made a mockery of my celebration. You may leave now.”

“I only just arrived,” said Erestor flippantly.

“You misunderstand, then. The moment you entered in this ridiculous manner, you lost your privilege to attend. If you do not discretely remove yourself, I have six attendants to whom I have made it quite clear you are to be taken from this room using whatever means necessary. This is unacceptable, and even you know that.”

“And what rule have I broken to create such offense? I saw nothing upon your invitation preventing such attire – in fact, it was, dare I say, encouraged.” Erestor’s gaze flitted around in an attempt to locate the attendants she had spoken of, to know just how much time he had to argue his point. “All is fair, do as you dare – those were your own words,” he reminded her.

Momentarily, it seemed that she would have nothing to counter this, but then her lips curled into the sort of smile that Erestor had wished to avoid, and she said to him, “Perhaps you neglected to read the outside of the invitation, for if you had, you would have noticed this to be a masquerade ball. You, sir, have no mask.”

Erestor blinked and tried desperately to find an excuse, a clause, anything... but he realized both disappointedly and angrily that she was correct. It was the one element he had completely neglected, and while he felt it should have been optional considering his face was masked with paint, it did not help that she was, technically, right.

“Kindly remove yourself at once.”

Numbly, Erestor turned. He looked around, trying to think if he should say something to Glorfindel, or where the lower doors were located for he certainly did not wish to walk back up the stairs in view of everyone.

“I said,” spoke Indis, loud enough that the musicians paused for a second time that night, “you are to remove yourself this instant!”

There was much discussion, mumbled and murmured through the crowd, and out of the corner of his eye Erestor caught Glorfindel beginning to make his way across the room. It was not his mate that came to his rescue, however.

“Grandmother, what is the matter?” Turgon was now standing only a few feet from them, addressing Indis was concern in his eyes.

“He is improperly attired for this event,” she replied. “He has neglected his mask.”

It took Turgon a split second to realize it was not what he had thought it was (or at least, that was not the excuse used) for the trouble that Erestor had gotten himself into this time – and Turgon was all too familiar with Erestor’s inane ability to get himself into trouble. “Oh! Oh, Erestor, I am so sorry!” he said, setting his drink down on the table his grandmother was at. “I completely forgot to bring it down with me – I have his mask in my room, grandmother. I shall retrieve it with him at once.” Turgon began to put an arm around Erestor, and thought better of it. “Does this stain?”

“...Maybe?”

“Fine.” Indis motioned for the musicians to play again, defeat in her voice. “But he is disqualified from the contest, for not entering prepared.”

Erestor began to open his mouth, but Turgon pulled him gently by the wrist through the crowd. “Sorry about that, grandmother! We shall return!” 

Thankfully for Erestor, Turgon knew exactly where the nearest door was, and soon they were heading down a corridor that lead to the family quarters. “Oh, Erestor,” was all Turgon said as they walked.

“I am so sorry for ruining your evening.”

“Ruining my evening? Certainly not... the look on her face when you came down the stairs was priceless.” Turgon lowered his voice despite them being the only two people in the corridor. “That woman annoys me.”

“Really?” Erestor smiled. “How did she spite you?”

“She told me our baby was ugly. Then, when we proposed that we were going to choose a name that was not Vanyarin, I was told that the name I had planned to choose sounded like the name for a servant.” Turgon unlocked the door of the room he and Elenwe used at the estate, and then looked to see Erestor, shocked, still standing in the hallway. “Such a pleasant lady,” he said in a flat voice.

“What did you plan to name Idril?” asked Erestor as he hurried into the room so that Turgon could shut the door to keep his dogs from wandering out into the hallway.

“We planned to—down!” Turgon sharply shouted, and Erestor ducked a little. “Not you. The dogs.” He shooed his canine companions into a room to the side, then shut the door. “Lerina was about to lick your hand.”

“That would have been bad.” 

Turgon nodded in agreement. “Stay here; I will be right back. I really do have an extra mask. If you want, there is a chair in the corner that you could sit on if you like.”

“Thank you; I think I will stand. I have no idea how long this lasts or what will ruin it. I suppose I might have asked first.” Erestor chose to pace, mostly to keep himself from freezing. “So what did you plan to name her?”

“She was going to be Kanoseldë,” called Turgon from the next room. “But that woman showed up at Idril’s Essecarmë and pulled me aside before it began. Grandfather was no better – he stood there agreeing with her the whole time. I was trapped, and I was pretty young, so I just basically agreed to come up with a proper Vanyarin name – and, I was so lucky, she had picked out three or four she thought were suitable. Imagine my wife’s surprise when I announced our daughter as a name other than the one I had chosen.” Turgon reemerged with a black half-mask with gold lace around the edges and onyx studs embedded around the eye holes. “This is really a shame, to cover your face with this. If you give me about fifteen minutes I think I can rig it with a stick so that you can carry it around without actually wearing it. Then you can lower it when that woman is not watching.”

“I would hate to take up more of your time. You have already gone beyond--”

“Erestor, this is what friends are for. And how does the saying go? Anyone who is an enemy of my enemy is a friend of mine? Besides, you know I preferred you over most of the others in Gondolin. I just wish you had done less stupid things while you were there.”

“I seem to excel at that,” said Erestor.

“For someone so brilliant, you do. I am still uncertain if you follow trouble, or if it follows you, but you are certainly never far from it.” Turgon set to work on his project, finishing sooner than he had expected while they discussed other things they hated about Indis. “The funny thing is, she has no concept of the fact she is doing things wrong,” he said after finishing the modification to the mask. “Here you are. Not to be rude, but we should head back quickly. It is not that you have outstayed your welcome, only that with you out of the running I should like to return and win the competition.”

Accepting the mask, Erestor stepped back and took a moment to properly admire the costume that was indeed worthy of first place. “Your wife certainly excels at design.”

Turgon paused and blinked in confusion, and then slowly nodded. “Right... my wife... yes, she does,” he said quickly as he opened the door to let them out.

“Have I assumed too much? I thought that Elenwe – wait, did you make your costume?”

Something was mumbled by Turgon that included the phrases ‘not a lot call these days for a king’ and ‘very noble profession to be a tailor’. He locked the door and swiftly started down the corridor, with Erestor hurriedly keeping up.


	7. Chapter 7

“I heard you have a new favorite color.” Haldir smiled slyly as his father groaned and shut his eyes upon entering the room.

Erestor sat down on the arm of the sofa, his arms crossed over his chest. “I am still turning the bathwater blue. I have no idea where it is coming from anymore, either. I keep scrubbing and scrubbing with no end in sight. Elladan suggested that it is probably just clinging to my hair.”

“It probably is,” agreed Haldir. “Part of me wishes I had been there to see your act of immodesty, but on the other hand, I think it might have scarred me.”

“Did you see Glorfindel’s trophy?” asked Erestor in an obvious attempt to change the topic. Despite the promise that the body paint used was lickable and washable, there was no indication given that after a certain time, it would become semi-permanent. The better part of Erestor’s week had been spent making himself less and less blue, with only minimal success. 

Haldir nodded. “He said that Turgon took first place, and that Ecthelion took third.”

“Yes. It was a regular Gondolin reunion that night,” recalled Erestor. “You would have thought, the way they celebrated, that they had won the war.”

With a shake of his head, Haldir picked up from the side table the stick to which was still attached the mask that Erestor used during the event. “Knowing now how much trouble the night turned out to be, between nearly getting ejected from the party to returning to your rooms to find the key missing, would you still have done it?”

Erestor cringed a bit at mention of the key business. It turned out that Glorfindel did not take a key to the room, and when they returned, the spare had been removed. Unable to find an attendant to open the room for them, they went to the room that Elrond and Celebrian had, explained the situation, and slept on the floor. This meant no bath (and even worse, no lickable sex acts) for the pair, and for Erestor, a particularly uncomfortable evening with nothing but Glorfindel’s cloak (and Glorfindel, but only in a very polite fashion) to keep him warm.

“I take it that would be a no.”

“Actually, I would still probably do it. It was all very freeing – and the look Indis had on her face was priceless.” Erestor looked about to say something more, but shut his mouth instead.

The movement was not missed by Haldir. “What?” 

“Ah, nothing.” Erestor shrugged. “I try to be careful and not say things that might make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh.” Haldir chuckled. “Because of the whole father and son thing.”

Erestor nodded.

“You can tell me. I mean, we were friends before I found out about you being my father, so it really is not the same. I will not traumatize easily – even if it has to do with something personal with Glorfindel.”

A slight blush crept onto Erestor’s cheeks, which appeared to have a purple tint instead of pink. “Not so much to do with him.”

“What, then?” asked Haldir, even more intrigued.

There was a little hesitation before Erestor answered. “It was a very sensual experience. Very tactile and vibrant.” He rubbed his arm with his hand, where the hairs had not yet begun to regrow. “I felt so aware of everything, and my senses were all heightened because of it. and I felt...” He cleared his throat. “I pursued a great many others in hopes of romantic ventures; there is no secret in that. It was infrequent that I was pursued – in fact, it was only ever Glorfindel who showed interest first. There was something immensely enjoyable about being the obvious object of desire for more than one person that night.”

“I am going to stop you right there,” interrupted Haldir, “because you just managed to make it over the line of things I do not need to know.” He stood up. “I am, uh, happy for you, though. I am very glad you had a good time.” He left the room as Elrond entered, and Erestor let out a sigh while rubbing his face with his hands.

“Everything alright?” asked Elrond as he took up the spot vacated by Haldir.

“Just reflecting on how difficult it is for parents to communicate with their children. Sometimes, I wonder why it has to be so hard to be a father.”

Elrond leaned forward with his arm extended. “Join the club,” he said upon shaking Erestor’s hand. “Some advice?” he offered, still holding firm to the hand Erestor had held out. Erestor nodded. “Running around naked tends to embarrass your children more than anything. Talking to them about it,” added Elrond quickly as Erestor attempted to extract his hand, “is even worse.” He let go of his grip with a grin. “From one father to another, I make certain to spend my naked time in private.”

“I was not naked. Not completely.” Erestor slid down onto the couch to sulk. “You never would have made it at Cuivienen,” he muttered as Elrond held a smirk on his lips and opened a crisply folded letter. “Everything was much simpler when nudity was the accepted form of dress.” When he realized he was not receiving any retorts, Erestor tried to peer over at the letter. “If that is another invitation from Lady Indis, I decline.”

“It is an invitation, but not from Indis.” Elrond held the letter out for Erestor to take. “Thranduil is having a gathering.”

“Oh.” Erestor unfolded the sheets. “A formal, historical cotillion... participants to choose a historical place or event... any time in Elven history allowed...” Erestor skimmed through the rest, and frowned. “Only a week! How does he expect anyone to be ready?”

“It actually arrived the same day as the invitation from Indis, but it was left on the table, where it was forgotten when someone set a bowl of fruit upon it. I only just found it now.”

“It barely gives any of us enough time to come up with something, let alone have anything made.” Erestor handed the invitation back. “On the other hand, Thranduil will be disappointed if we miss it. I think Glorfindel might still have his armor from his battle with the Witchking.”

“I know I still have mine from my heralding days.” Elrond nodded. “It might need a little mending, but I am sure it will be faster than having something specially made. Celebrian still owns a few dresses from the Second Age, and surely you must have something you can pull out of the attic.”

Erestor looked both thoughtful and mischievous. “I doubt I will need to go that far to find my costume.” He stood up and nodded. “If you will excuse me, I think I shall go to town and see what the lovely lady Linloriel is doing that night.” He missed the look of concern from Elrond as he swiftly left the room. 

As soon as the front door was heard to hastily open and close again, a voice from the kitchen called out, “Was that Erestor?”

“Yes, Glorfindel,” said Elrond loudly, though he himself hated it when others shouted from room to room.

Glorfindel entered moments later, wiping the flour from his hands with a damp rag. “I suppose he found that other invitation.”

“I found it, but-- how did you know there was another invitation?” asked Elrond.

“I hid it,” Glorfindel readily admitted. “I learned I have a quota on the number of social gatherings I wish to see my husband indecently exposed at, and it has already been exceeded.”

Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can speak to him when he returns.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “Maybe he just needs to get it out and then it will be done with.” Glorfindel pulled off his apron and sat down with it wadded up in his lap, culinary project abandoned for now. “Once is novelty, but if he keeps doing this…”

“You are jealous,” recognized Elrond.

“Damned right I am,” Glorfindel answered. “Did you see how everyone looked at him? On one hand, I think he is just being rebellious toward societal norms. The Sedryners told him he was improper and now he is furthering it, like their censure gave him leave to do whatever he wants now.”

“To be fair, Erestor did an awful lot of whatever Erestor wanted to do in the past,” Elrond reminded his friend. “He went after that balrog by himself, and he left Imladris during the most dangerous time to tend to Haldir when he was injured, plus that whole thing with that cobra, and from what stories my Great-grandfather does share with me, it seems Erestor actually mellowed somewhat between Gondolin and Imladris.”

“And those are just the things you know,” mumbled Glorfindel. 

“What portion of his behavior is most upsetting to you? I am not entirely convinced that it is his near nudity, for it is not all that much different than when we all go swimming or sunning on the beach,” reasoned Elrond. “Is it the blue paint, because I doubt that can be all that different from the times you and he go to the Festival of Nessa and have all of those designs painted on your skin.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “It is this persona he adapts when he does these things.”

“He is an actor. I think we forget sometimes that he is a performer, and he probably has more in common with Lindir than with us in that regard. We might put on a costume, but we remain true to ourselves when we walk into the room, and even at times laugh about it in the mirror. Erestor takes the craft seriously,” said Elrond.

“He need not take it so seriously that he forgets me in the process.” Glorfindel pressed his lips together and looked away. Time passed, and Elrond was about to speak again, when Glorfindel offered, “Having to watch him stand there and flirt with that woman, and then all of the other things he says to young ladies, it just-- I get so--”

“Angry?” supplied Elrond.

“He is both the cause of my greatest joys and my most frustrating moments!”

“I suppose that is proof of how much you love him.” Elrond placed the invitation back onto the table. “I will speak with him on your behalf, if you should ask it.”

Again, Glorfindel shook his head. “I just want him to stop. He crossed the room at that party and winked at blushing maidens and he kissed them on the back of the hand and made suggestive comments, but then he came back and forgot the whole reason he traversed the hall in the first place was because he offered to get a drink for me.

“Perhaps he does not realize what he is doing. He may be getting caught up in the moment - and so, speaking to him about it directly would be a very good idea.”

“I want to wait until after Thranduil’s party,” said Glorfindel.

“Even if it has the possibility of upsetting you further?” asked Elrond.

Glorfindel rubbed his eyes. “I want to see what sort of bullshit he pulls this time before I do.”


	8. Chapter 8

“I am sorry to say, if you have no reservation, there simply is no room for you here.”

“Well! I guess we should just turn around and go home, then,” declared Glorfindel as he hoisted up a parcel Erestor insisted be brought with them, but left unopened until the day of the event.

Erestor placed his hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder, which kept Glorfindel from turning in the direction of the door. “It is us, Elrohir,” said Erestor sharply. “Now, I know from the time long, long ago that I spent working here that there are always rooms held in reserve for cases such as this. I am sure you know of an empty suite somewhere.”

“Alas, if only that were the case,” answered Elrohir. “There was so much interest in the King’s Ball, we decided to release the rooms early. We have been sold out for two weeks, and there have been no cancellations.”

Erestor drummed his free hand on the desk. “What about your room?”

“What about it?” 

“We could use it when you are not there. I am sure we could work something out,” suggested Erestor.

“If only you had asked sooner. I already told my brother, my sister-in-law, my parents, and my grandparents that they could store their things and take naps there. There is barely room to walk in there now, and my wife would put me out if I offer space to anyone else.” Elrohir might have been apologetic, but there was a growing line, and the lunch buffet was soon to be served. There were already disgruntled murmurs from behind the pair at the counter. “You could always set up a tent on the lawn. That is what some are doing.”

“A tent,” repeated Erestor dryly. His fingers clenched, and only after hearing Glorfindel hiss did he realize he still had him by the shoulder. He released his grip. 

“Yes. A tent on the lawn. It is better than nothing,” said Elrohir. 

“If only we had thought to bring a tent to an inn.” Erestor glanced down at the book Elrohir had open in front of him. In the thousands and thousands of years the King’s Kastle had been in operation, little had changed. It was the same booking system Erestor recalled when he was employed by the inn, long before he had set foot back into Middle-earth. “Let me see this a moment,” he said suddenly, and he wrestled the book away from Elrohir for but a moment.

“Is there trouble here?” growled a low voice that was suddenly to Erestor’s right.

Erestor looked up - unusual for Erestor considering his own height - and as he was distracted, Elrohir grabbed the book back (with a bit of help from Glorfindel, who shoved it closer when Erestor was not looking). The large elf had his arms crossed over his chest and a glare on his face. “You have to be joking. I was replaced with this?” The bouncer cracked the knuckles of his thick fingers while staring at Erestor. “You know, back in my day, the customer was always right, Elrohir. We never used brute intimidation to solve issues. You may do well to consider that for the future. Come, Glorfindel, I have no intention of camping on the lawn.” Erestor grabbed the parcel from Glorfindel, leaving the blond to collect up the other two satchels they had with them.

“Have a lovely day,” called out Elrohir. He received a single finger salute from Erestor as he continued to walk away - one that made Glorfindel blush slightly and hope that most of the Elves standing about did not know the meaning of.

“He is going to tell Elrond what transpired,” Glorfindel cautioned once they were outside of the inn.

“Let him. I am sure Elrond will see my side of things!” Erestor looked about to throw the parcel onto the ground, but instead he set it gently next to the carriage they had arrived in. “I suppose we can go home, and come back to pick up Elrond and the others once this is over with.”

“Really? You are just going to give up on this?” 

It sounded like Erestor said yes, but his words were lost with the din of hoofbeats. When that sound abruptly halted, there before them were two brothers familiar to them. “Is the phrase ‘give up’ even in Erestor’s vocabulary?” asked one.

“Not sure. You know him better than I.” The other dismounted and assisted Glorfindel in putting the luggage back onto the carriage. “Leaving already?”

“Thank you - and yes, we neglected to make reservations.”

“They could stay with us,” announced the brother who was still on his horse.

“Oh. Right.” The elder brother nodded. “What Turgon said.”

“Oh, well, we would not want to impose--” began Glorfindel.

“Nonsense. Have you seen his ‘house’?” Turgon dismounted now as well. “He could open an inn twice the size of Thranduil’s if he wanted. Besides, I assume you have an encore to your last costume, and I would not wish to miss you making life difficult for someone other than myself.”

Fingon walked to Turgon and proceeded to tie their horses next to the ones that were hitched to the carriage. “You are both welcome to stay at the theatre. It is not much for accommodations, but there are rooms which will suffice.”

“If you are both staying at the theatre, what are you doing here now?” questioned Glorfindel.

Turgon and Fingon exchanged a brief glance. “Have either of you heard of the all you can feast upon buffet Thranduil has for his guests?”

“We are very aware of it,” said Glorfindel. 

“Now, before you say it is only for the guests,” said Turgon, “have you seen how much food they throw away at the end? An unsightly amount. With so many people here for the event, he will no doubt make more food than usual. We are simply here to help - and we were invited. It is not our fault that there are no rooms for us to rent.”

“Besides, have you seen how much food Turgon can eat?” asked Fingon. “It is worth it just to see him put away a dozen hard boiled eggs in one sitting.”

“And nary a glass of water or sip of beer between,” Turgon said with pride. 

“I am not going to lie. Part of me wants to see this,” admitted Glorfindel. He shut the carriage door. “Shall we impose upon Thranduil’s hospitality?”

Erestor leaned in through the window of the carriage and covered the parcel with a cloak. “I feel I am owed something for the treatment I received when we tried to procure a room,” he decided.

“What happened?” asked Fingon. 

“A most grievous insult. I shall tell you all about it over lunch,” said Erestor as he and Fingon fell in step. 

Glorfindel merely rolled his eyes and shook his head. Turgon smirked and patted Glorfindel on the back. “I am so glad he is your problem these days and not mine.”


	9. Chapter 9

Turgon managed fifteen hardboiled eggs in addition to a heaping salad of greens topped with a cucumber vinaigrette, four sage and onion sausages, a bowl of mashed potatoes with butter and cheese, two small loaves of bread with butter, and a handful of mixed nuts, not to mention three slices of pie for dessert. In contrast, Fingon ate only rice with lemon, half of a filet of cod (Turgon ate the other half), and a very selectively chosen bowl of fruit. He declined dessert, but indulged in copious amounts of water throughout the meal. “I never thought someone could eat more than Salgant,” said Glorfindel when they were on their way to the theatre. Fingon and Turgon hitched their horses to the carriage as well, and they made good time even with all of them in the carriage.

“I have my talents,” said Turgon. He and Glorfindel were facing each other, and chatted during the majority of the ride, while Erestor held the parcel protectively in his lap and looked out the window. 

Fingon kept his eyes on the package, and when there was a pause in the conversation, he inquired as to its contents. “I imagine it has something to do with your costume.”

“It is the costume,” said Erestor.

Fingon’s eyes widened a bit. “All in that little box?”

Erestor blushed. “I have been… experimenting with something a little unconventional,” he said.

“I thought I told you…” Turgon leaned over to Fingon and held up his hand as he whispered a few things. By the time he was done, Fingon’s cheeks were turning pink. “Oh,” said Fingon. “I suppose I misunderstood a bit of what happened at Grandmother’s soiree.”

“Not to worry. It would appear that you will be able to see the new and improved version,” said Turgon. “Do we at least get a hint?”

Fingon’s horse began to slow the others as they approached their destination. Erestor shrugged. “I really cannot say yet what it shall look like, but since we will all be traveling there together, I dare say you would have the first look at it. Second, really, after Glorfindel,” he corrected.

“I look forward to that,” said Fingon as the carriage stopped.

\---

“Just what is in the box?” asked Glorfindel. Upon arriving, they were shown to a room with a private bathing chamber, and almost immediately took a nap. Erestor was up first, and Glorfindel found him sketching out some things on some paper that had been in a drawer of the desk in the room. 

“Open it,” suggested Erestor, and Glorfindel did not hesitate to do so.

Inside, he found a dozen jars containing different colors of what he assumed was the paint that had been used for the last costume. There were also a few different sizes of brushes, and a pouch of gold dust, as well as one of silver this time. Another box inside the first also contained a needle, thread, and a loincloth much like the first one, only this one matched the color of Erestor’s skin. Finally, there was a satchel with a large heavy jar of amber goop, a few rolls of cloth, some flat wooden sticks, and a tweezers. There was also a jar of fine powder. “I suppose Lindoriel will be here soon to help you with this?”

“Linloriel,” corrected Erestor. “And no, it was too short of notice. Besides,” he added, “I wanted her to help with the unfortunate yet inevitable hair removal. I want you to do the painting.”

“Oh.” Glorfindel removed the items from the box and set them upon the desk. “So if she is not coming, I guess you need help with all of this. Except I do not know the first thing when it comes to any of this. I could shave it off for you, if we can find a razor,” he offered. “That I know how to do.”

“I am afraid it will be stubbly if we do it too far in advance, and the day of we may rush and nick something.”

Glorfindel frowned. “I only shave about once a month, and you can barely feel the stubble.”

Erestor shifted his stance.

“What?” Glorfindel’s question issued forth sharply.

“If you say so,” mumbled Erestor. “I mean--”

Glorfindel ran his hand over his chin a few times. “Fine. If you really try to find it, you can feel it after two or three weeks.”

“Exactly. Here. Feel my leg.” Erestor pulled up the hem of his pants and presented the skin to Glorfindel for inspection.

“Yes, I can see it, but barely. I think you will be fine if you just shave it,” he argued.

“I need it to be perfect.”

“For who?”

“It just has to be,” insisted Erestor. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“I have no idea what I am to do, Erestor,” he said.

Erestor picked up the largest jar. “This needs to be heated. Then you take these,” he said, holding up one of the sticks, “and you spread it around over my skin while still warm. And you pull it off with these. Oh, you need to put the powder on first, though, and then afterwards--”

“Stop. No. Erestor, there are too many steps to this, and I am not comfortable tearing the hairs off of your body,” said Glorfindel. “If you want to do it yourself, you have my support, oddly enough, but if you want me to help, the best I can do is ask Fingon if he happens to have a razor I can use.”

Shoulders slumped, Erestor conceded. “Fine. Better than nothing,” he decided.

Glorfindel left the room in search of Fingon. He did not have far to go. Used to living alone in the dilapidated theatre, Fingon had his bedroom door wide open. One cat was leaving as another entered just before Glorfindel knocked on the doorframe. “I am terribly sorry to be a bother,” he began, “but I am trying to assist Erestor with the preparations for his costume, and we seem not to have a razor with which to trim back the offending hairs on his limbs. I do not suppose you might have one on hand that we could borrow?”

“This is for the painting thing?” guessed Fingon. 

Glorfindel nodded.

“He should really use something to pull them out, unless he is averse to it. Plucking would take too long. I have some sugarwax if he wants to use that,” offered Fingon as he disappeared into his own private bathing chamber.

“Is that the stuff that pulls it all out at once?” 

Fingon returned with a jar similar to the one Erestor brought with him, only this one was half empty. “More or less.”

“And you have it, so you probably know how to use it,” reasoned Glorfindel.

“No one comes to a performance to see a hirsute dancer, Glorfindel.”

“In that case,” said Glorfindel, “I have another favor to ask of you.”

\---

“So you see, once you get started, it is really quite easy.” Fingon pulled the most recently applied strip of muslin away from Erestor, and discarded it in a bin to the side of the bed. “Here,” he said handing the wooden stick to Glorfindel. “Your turn.”

They were making better time than Linloriel had, on account of being able to switch between one of the jars in use while the other was set in boiling water to warm up again. There were also two of them, and it was obvious from the start that Fingon was quite adept at the procedure. Even with the guidance, Glorfindel remained uncertain. “Where should I start?” he asked.

Fingon returned from swapping the jars. “Since you are painting everything, you should make sure everything is smooth. I can help with most of it, but some of this,” he said, waving his hand around the area between Erestor’s thighs, “you should do.” 

Erestor was on his stomach, but even without visual confirmation, he had a pretty good idea what Fingon was referring to. “That is going to be covered,” he said when he felt Glorfindel push the skin on his flank to the side. “And I only did the front along the parts that I thought might show.”

“I thought you wanted to do this the right way,” said Fingon. “Once you get rid of the mostly unoffensive hair, the remaining patches, such as ass hairs, become even less attractive. Do you really want us to do a half-assed job? Oh, that was a good pun,” he complimented himself.

“Fine,” said Erestor, and Glorfindel seemed to only too eagerly pull the flesh aside and slather the warm, sticky substance over slightly darker skin before he applied the muslin strip, only to yank it off again. “Shit!” Erestor hit his fist against the mattress as even Fingon seemed surprised.

“Oh… you forgot the powder. That will do it.” Fingon took hold of the jar of wax and handed the other jar to Glorfindel. “Try it again.”

Once they finished their task, Erestor bathed as Glorfindel and Fingon tidied the room. When Erestor emerged, looking not only incredibly smooth but also very drained, Fingon remarked, “You have probably already considered it, but I would suggest only eating light meals tomorrow, and water sparingly the day of the event. If you like, I have a clyster you could use. I find I feel less bloated on days when I perform when I use it. It is the sort you can administer on your own,” he added. “No pressure - just thought I would offer.” He bid them goodnight before closing the door.

“That just brought forth a flood of new questions about him,” said Erestor as he sat down on the bed and braided his hair.

“Pun intended, or…?” 

“What? No. Oh, no, that was a bad one. Forget I said it that way,” begged Erestor as he crawled into bed, unconcerned for the damp braid that coiled on the pillow.

Glorfindel readied the room, including keeping one lit candle at the bedside before he joined his husband. “You never told me what I am supposed to paint,” he said as he snuggled up and enjoyed the feel of his hands upon silken skin. His touch made Erestor shiver. “With all of those colors, it cannot be the same as the last time.”

“Very perceptive,” said Erestor.

“So? What am I to do, then?”

“Whatever you want,” mumbled Erestor before he fell asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

“I am most sincerely sorry,” reiterated Galion. “We are at capacity and cannot let anyone else inside.” When the quartet arrived, Elrohir had been the one at the door, but he quickly motioned Galion over and disappeared before they reached it. They walked slowly on account of the rocky ground between the hitching posts and the main entrance, though it did not seem pace would have much mattered. 

“We have invitations,” argued Erestor. He was more irritated than he had been when told of the situation with the rooms. 

The ride to the venue had not been without its own trials. After following most of Fingon’s advice, Erestor truly did allow Glorfindel to paint whatever he wanted. Glorfindel chose scenes from the Second Age, for he himself had his armor from the Last Alliance as his costume. Instead of covering Erestor’s tattoos, Glorfindel worked them into the designs on his living canvas, and bound Erestor’s hair in an intricate crown of braids on top of his head so that all of the art could be seen. 

Having committed to absolutely nothing, Turgon and Fingon chose something of a reenactment piece, with Turgon choosing to dress as Annatar, and Fingon finding a way to rig his costume to include part of a pole seeming to jut from his shoulder. “If I did not think Celebrimbor would find this amusing, I would not attempt it,” he explained to them before they left. 

Then came the journey itself, with Fingon needing to partially dismantle his costume so that he could get into the carriage, and Erestor regretting that he followed the advice from Fingon when it came to putting on the meager amount of clothing Erestor was to wear. “It may have been alright when you were painted darker colors, but now it bulges quite obviously in the front,” Fingon had said when Glorfindel finished his work and Turgon came to the room to tidying sew the garment on.

“What can I possibly do about it?” asked Erestor.

That was how Erestor learned of a technique Fingon referred to as ‘tucking it back’, and how the ride became almost unbearable if not for the extra cushion Glorfindel found under a seat. By the time they reached the venue, Erestor had spent most of the journey fanning himself in an attempt to keep sweat from ruining Glorfindel’s work. He was ready for the night to be over, and while Galion more or less presented that option, Erestor wanted it to be on his terms.

“We have been full up since this afternoon,” explained Galion. 

“The invitations said that the event was to begin at sundown.” Erestor caught sight of the very large elf coming to the doorway. “Here we go again,” he huffed.

But Turgon, who had been looking around, would not be so easily chased off. Before they could be told again to leave, he was negotiating with Galion. “See that group over yonder?” he asked, for there was a gathering in the midst of the village of tents on the lawn. “It would appear there is an outdoor version for those of us who followed proper protocol and did not arrive terribly early. Now, if you would kindly have two barrels of ale and five cases brought out to us, we will be ever so patient while we await tables and food to be brought out as well.”

“Sir, there is no alternate venue,” said Galion as the elf beside him went about cracking his knuckles theatrically.

“That is such a shame, because I am fairly certain that either there is a venue over there, or, that I shall call out to all of them quite loudly--”

“And he can be quite loud,” interrupted Fingon.

“--that there is another party at Lord Fingon’s theatre.”

“There is?” Fingon frowned.

“There will be,” countered Turgon. “Now, does your King really want to be bested by a Noldo?”

“Half-Noldo,” Fingon hastily added.

“Because I can tell you right now, if I was him, I would not want to be insulted in such a way. And you can just stand down right this instant,” he scolded the large elf glowering at him. Turgon stepped forward, toe to toe with the elf in the doorway, matching with him nearly eye-to-eye. “I fought a dragon,” he hissed. “If you think you can intimidate me, you are mistaken.”

“I also fought a dragon,” added Fingon to their companions.

“That was a baby dragon,” muttered Turgon. 

“Well, I won against mine, so…”

Galion sighed. “Fine. If we can be rid of you, the drink will be delivered in good time to the… outdoor venue.”

“And food,” reminded Turgon.

“I will need to speak to the master about that,” said Galion.

“Sorry, I believe you just said, ‘Please, Lord Turgon, bellow loud enough so that they hear all the way to the hall that some of the guests are being unfairly treated’,” said Turgon.

“And how -- he has quite the bellowing range,” confirmed Fingon.

“Fine. Food and drink.” Galion waved an arm in the direction of the merrymaking near the tents.

“Splendid.” Turgon took a step away, then turned back and made a shooing motion at the taller elf. “Go on. Make yourself useful and fetch that ale.”

Once they were out of range for Galion to hear them, Erestor shook his head. “This is not how I expected this to go.” He sniffled and brushed his thumb under his nose.

“Here.” Fingon pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and paused to dab it at the corners of Erestor’s eyes. “No use crying about it. You will only smudge your makeup. There. The show must go on.”

“Some show.” Erestor took a deep breath. “It is so dark out here, no one is going to see this, and it looks like rain, and I just want to go home.”

Fingon glanced over at Glorfindel, who stepped in. “Do you really want to go home?” he asked. 

“Fin!” 

Both Glorfindel and Fingon looked up at the same time. Running toward them was an elf with red hair, but it was clearly not his usual color. A copious amount of bangles on his arms and ankles jangled as he moved, and glittering jewels adorned his neck and ears. A large, polished opal was set in his navel, and he nearly skidded into Glorfindel as he giddily came to a stop. “Look at you! Look at all of you - oh, Erestor! I knew I was going to have competition! Turn around; let me see!” Gildor came very close, for it was dark and many of the paintings had fine details. “Such a shame it will need to be washed away in time. But for tonight, let us enjoy it all! Come; the better party is out here,” declared Gildor, and he pulled Erestor along with him so that the others were compelled to follow.

There was a large bonfire for light and for cooking, for someone had procured game and had it roasting. There was a makeshift bar being tended by Eledu and Gwyndir, who also seemed to have missed entering before the cut-off. Some were talking in little clusters near the fire, and others were dancing, for there was Finrod with his harp, and Amarie beside him with a lute, and both of them singing merry songs. Maedhros sat with them, and while he raised a hand in greeting, only Turgon and Glorfindel returned the gesture. Fingon fiddled with his handkerchief, and Erestor missed most of the faces completely as Gildor led him inside one of the tents. 

“Here. You look a little pale. This might help.” Gildor picked up a tray from a wooden crate that had been overturned to be used as a makeshift table. The tent had a sweet, smoky scent within. Erestor looked down at the tray and the white powder measured on it. “Go on.”

Erestor shook his head. “I really stopped using that when we got here.”

Gildor rolled his eyes. “What is one little bit going to hurt? I am trying to be a friend here, Erestor. You look just about ready to piss yourself. You came here to relax and enjoy, right?”

There was a twitch of Erestor’s mouth as he considered it. A stack of paper squares was on the tray, and he took one and rolled it up. “Just a little. To help with my nerves.”

“See? There you go. You will feel better in no time.”

 

“What the fuck has gotten into him?” It was not the first time Glorfindel asked the question. He and Fingon were sitting on a log drinking wine directly from a bottle Turgon procured for them when the first delivery was made from the house. Turgon was busy playing makeshift host, greeting everyone and making it quite clear he was the hero of the night. Not very far away, Erestor was dancing with yet another young lady around the fire. It was the seventeenth one that evening - not that Glorfindel was actively keeping count. He watched with narrowed eyes as an elleth boldly cut in, and picked up a stick to make another hash mark in the dirt.

“I find it rather strange that he was on the verge of tears and wanted to go home, and within minutes he was laughing and making merry. It is hard to figure out his true emotions,” remarked Fingon. He took a swig from the bottle. “Has he even danced with you once tonight?”

“We rarely dance in public,” admitted Glorfindel. 

Fingon took another swig from the bottle. “Neither do I, unless I am paid for it. Oh, that sounded terrible,” he instantly realized. 

“I know what you mean,” said Glorfindel as he reached for the bottle.

Fingon relinquished his hold, but as soon as Glorfindel drank, he took it back and set it aside. “Come on,” he said as he stood up.

“Where are we going?”

“I suspect we are going to make your husband jealous, though we will at least enjoy ourselves out here.” Fingon walked closer to where couples were dancing, with Glorfindel just behind. When he turned around, Fingon said, “Typically, I feel the taller person should lead, but I seem to have a spear sticking out of my shoulder, so I think you should.”

“Or, I could just use the spear to stear,” said Glorfindel.

“Ha - no,” said Fingon as he batted Glorfindel’s hand away. “This is not the sturdiest prop I have constructed, and until I see Celebrimbor, I do not want to remove it.”

“What if he is inside the inn?” asked Glorfindel as he took hold of one of Fingon’s hands and placed his other upon Fingon’s back.

“Then I have a really long wait ahead of me. No, not like that, like this,” Fingon said, and he positioned Glorfindel’s hands around his waist. Fingon then put his arms around Glorfindel’s neck. “Hmm…”

“What?”

“You smell lovely,” commented Fingon. Glorfindel blushed. “Right, well, go on. We can either stand here all night - not that I would complain - or we can dance and see if Erestor even notices.”

An hour later, it was obvious that Erestor either did not notice, or was ignoring them. “This is ridiculous,” stated Fingon as Finrod finished a tune and called for a break. “I have had just about enough of it.”

“Not as if we can-- oh, well, alright.” Glorfindel found himself being pulled along by the wrist as Fingon approached Erestor. There were a pair of ladies swooning over him, but when Fingon cleared his throat, they scattered. Now Erestor turned around, and saw Glorfindel behind Fingon. “Have you been having a good time?”

“Have you?” questioned Fingon, but it was evident he was not looking for an answer. “Because if the answer is yes, you will have my perplexed. You abandoned your husband almost the instant we arrived here, and for what? To dally about with a bunch of young ladies whom you could easily be the Great-grandfather of? Have you even once attempted to seek out Glorfindel in this crowd? Now I do believe that Finrod is about to start another song, and so help me, if you are not in Glorfindel’s arms, I have a mind to steal him away from you, and not just for this evening! Now stop acting like an ass, or I am going to run off with him and treat him as he deserves.” Fingon nudged Glorfindel forward, but before he let go of his wrist, bent down and whispered into his ear, “And I mean that.”

Glorfindel looked from Fingon to Erestor. “I suppose your dance card is full for the evening.”

“I suppose I have been an ass,” he responded.

“Damn right you have,” agreed Glorfindel as Fingon took his leave of them. “Maybe I did not expect to get the first dance, but I certainly did not expect to get the dregs.”

Erestor bowed as Finrod announced the next song. “May I have this dance?”

“No,” said Glorfindel. He waited until Erestor’s expression showed a suitable amount of shock. “Rejection is not so nice, is it?” Glorfindel took hold of Erestor’s hands and pulled him closer. “You may have all of the remaining dances this evening.”

“That seems more than fair,” said Erestor as the music began again. No matter how many times someone tried to cut in, the response from Glorfindel was always a polite yet firm ‘no, you may not’, until finally there was only one person still pestering them.

“Just one.”

“No, Gildor.”

“Come now! Maedhros will not dance in public. What am I to do with myself? The night is so long, and I am bored.” Gildor matched Erestor’s steps, practically a shadow to the side of him -- and with their daring costumes, it seemed to oddly work.

For Glorfindel, it did not. “Go find someone else to bother, Gildor.” He looked around, and while he kept Erestor close, lest Gildor find some way to wiggle his way between them. While he did not want to shove his problem off on Fingon, there were very few other suggestions Glorfindel could think to make. “What about Fingon?” he finally asked.

“Him? No,” replied Gildor immediately. “I refuse to dance with anyone prettier than me.”

Glorfindel instantly halted, which caused Erestor to bump against him and lose balance. Glorfindel caught hold of his husband as he demanded to know, “Then just where do I rank if you wanted to dance with me.”

“Alright, so, you and I are on the same level,” explained Gildor. “We get one point for Vanyar, lose half a point for being impure, gain three points for being natural blonds, another point for surviving a major battle - but then you lose one for, well, you know… I lose one for being born out of wedlock,” he added. “Then we gain two for being part of the house of Finwe and princes and all that crap, and another point for looking great naked. Plus one point for being great kissers, and two more for being great in bed. So we are solid 9.5s. Now Erestor--”

“I prefer not to know.”

But Gildor continued on anyhow. “Erestor is only a four. He loses a lot of points for being Erestor. He is a good kisser; I will give him that.”

“Are you trying to get punched tonight?” Erestor had his fists balled up, but with Glorfindel holding his wrists, he was somewhat harmless at the moment.

“I said you were a good kisser!” 

“So what makes Fingon more than a 9.5?”

Gildor lowered his voice. “Have you ever seen him naked?” 

Glorfindel slowly shook his head. “How would you have seen him naked?”

“The usual bathhouses. Maedhros and I frequent them, and so does Fingon. Really odd duck, though -- he always sits in pools by himself. I used to think he was watching and masturbating, but his hands are always where you can see them. Oh, he loses some points for the boring brown hair and getting all dead in the middle of a battle, but he still beats me.” Gildor applauded for his parents as the current song ended. 

Glorfindel felt Erestor shiver and wrapped his arms around him tighter. The fire was dying out, and a cool breeze was teasing them. “You say ‘the usual bathhouses’ as if I have come concept of this.”

“You have never been? Oh, Glorfindel, you must go! Erestor can tell you all about them,” he added as someone waved at him and he abandoned his attempts to dance as he ran toward the friend.

“So, Erestor, tell me about these bathhouses,” said Glorfindel with more than a hint of curiosity.

“Oh, well--” Erestor looked up, momentarily saved by droplets that fell upon them. “We should get to the carriage,” he said. The few drops that fell were already causing some of the paint to run.

“It had to come off sometime,” said Glorfindel. All the same, he took hold of Erestor’s hand and made an attempt to cross the lawn. Thunder rumbled, then growled, and the clouds burst open. “New plan! Head for the tree,” decided Glorfindel as he pulled them in the opposite direction to the woods behind the inn.

By the time they found cover, few of the images Glorfindel painted were recognizable upon Erestor’s body. In fact, it was more of an abstract interpretation, consisting of swirls and streaks of colors that ran into each other and blended to create a marbled rainbow on Erestor’s skin. “I think I like this better than my work,” said Glorfindel as he admired the way the paint slowly shifted now that it was wet.

Erestor twisted to the side to look down at himself, and made a grab for the one piece of clothing he was wearing. Now that it was wet, the fabric was expanding, and it hung loosely as he held it with one hand.

Glorfindel quickly looked about, and came to the decision that no one was close enough to see or hear them. “No need to concern yourself with modesty around me. After all we did the other night--”

“Even if I do something like this again, I am never going to have hair that thoughroughly removed from my body,” declared Erestor.

“Then I suppose I should enjoy it while I can,” said Glorfindel. He uncurled Erestor’s fingers, and the garment slid to the ground, creating new patterns on Erestor’s legs. “I forgot to ask - is it still edible?”

“All of it,” confirmed Erestor, and he gasped as Glorfindel licked his throat and reached down to fondle him. “OH… oh, yes, please, get those things back where they belong,” he begged.

“I nearly thought you were going to faint when Fingon helped you with that,” said Glorfindel. “And I thought it was going to break somehow, except he was so confident about what he was doing.”

“He definitely lied about it, though. ‘You will barely notice once it is in place.’ When he first started pulling and prodding, I thought he was going to insert the damned thing up my own ass.”

Glorfindel chuckled. “There. All better now?”

“Much. Thank you.” A chaste kiss of thanks soon became something more, and while the rain let up a bit, neither Glorfindel nor Erestor showed signs of doing the same. “I hope you brought oil with you,” managed Erestor when Glorfindel moved to nibble his neck. 

“Mmm… no… but…” Glorfindel ran his fingers through the wet paint on Erestor’s chest. “You seemed to be fine the last we used this.”

Erestor looked around. “Right here?”

“Here. Now. Before someone comes looking for us. And you know it will be either Gildor or Turgon.”

Without further hesitation, Erestor crouched down in the grass, and then lowered himself on his hands and knees. The branches overhead that had protected them from the downpour now sprinkled errant drops upon them from their leaves. Glorfindel tasted the substance on his fingers before he knelt behind Erestor and rubbed his fingers around the passage. “I think the different colors are different flavors. Your neck tastes like wildberries, and your ass is going to taste like pomegranate.”

“I like pomegranates,” commented Erestor just before Glorfindel slid a slick finger carefully inside. 

“This is really nice. Everything is so smooth.” Glorfindel slid his finger out to rub along the silken cleft. “I wonder if it is smooth inside, too.”

“That was another experience I could have lived without,” Erestor remarked of his pre-party preparations. “Why did I let Fingon talk me into all of those things?”

“Maybe you wanted to try it, and it was an excuse to do it,” said Glorfindel. “Like these costumes.” He slid his finger back within and curled it ever so slightly, causing Erestor to mewl with desire. “Like having sex in the middle of the woods with a party going on not that far away.”

“You said that as if we never have outdoor sex,” scolded Erestor when Glorfindel removed his fingers again and hastily removed the necessary armor to perform his husbandly duties.

“We should have more outdoor sex,” said Glorfindel as he set the armor in the grass and attempted to keep the noise level low. He had no need to prepare himself, for he was very much erect when he began to prepare Erestor. Glorfindel knelt back down behind his lover and reached out to smear the paint over his buttocks, which were mostly unadorned from having been covered. He changed his mind, drew a finger through the paint, and traced a lopsided circle around the bare derriere. He chose another color, and drew yet another circle, smaller, inside the first, and another smaller still at their center. 

“What are you doing?” Erestor finally asked as a fourth and final circle was drawn just around the entryway. 

“I want to make sure I have something to aim for, and--”

“Did you draw a target on my ass?” It was hard sometimes to tell if Erestor was upset or amused.

“Not a very good one,” said Glorfindel. “I fear it is not regulation - but, then, there are probably some regulations against having sex in the woods on someone else’s property.” He chose not to allow the banter to continue, and aimed his erection without further comment straight for its destination. He had neglected to coat it with anything, so there was some discomfort for both of them to start, but Glorfindel partially remedied it when he withdrew the first time. Once enough of the makeshift lubricant was sufficiently coating his cock, he quickened his pace considerably. 

Erestor was always loud, but tonight it was a surprise to them both that no one came to investigate the sounds in the woods. Glorfindel, typically somewhat reserved and always controlled when in this role was practically feral. He was possessive as he pounded in, flesh hitting flesh repeatedly while his fingers gripped Erestor’s slippery hips. Erestor trembled and climaxed well before Glorfindel did, and dug his nails into the wet earth, finally losing purchase, cheek in the grass, constant moans mingled with Glorfindel’s grunts as he claimed Erestor. As he began to release, Glorfindel pulled Erestor up against him, chest to back, and Erestor let out a cry of confusion as he was suddenly upright and very full. It was then that Glorfindel stopped thrusting and took hold of Erestor’s semi-soft member, teased it to erection, then nipped at his neck as he continued to pump his fist around Erestor’s flesh with one hand and reached around to pinch and pull Erestor’s nipples with his other hand. 

“I am going to count to three, and when I get there, you are going to come. Because I want that,” Glorfindel growled, and Erestor groaned. Glorfindel gave a few shallow thrusts before he spoke again. “One…” He twisted one nipple sharply, and Erestor whimpered. “Not yet,” crooned Glorfindel as Erestor panted. “Two…” He gave the same one another pinch before he pulled the other. “Shh… stay with me… stay with me…” Glorfindel slowed his movements slightly and waited for Erestor to calm just a little before he suddenly accelerated, pushing them both over the edge. “Three,” he said, and Erestor obediently released a second time as Glorfindel climaxed.

The rain had all but stopped now, and they cleaned up relatively quickly. With no viable clothing left, Erestor gratefully wrapped Glorfindel’s war cloak around his body after they found a nearby pool of water so that the remainder of the paint could be washed from Erestor - and from Glorfindel. “I am all in favor for my outdoor sex in the future,” said Erestor as they walked back and went over their story so that they were in agreement over the tale they would tell to anyone who asked.

“As am I,” said Glorfindel. “First, though, I think you owe me an explanation about those bathhouses…”


End file.
